


By the Light of the Fire

by DaLaRi



Series: Air Conditioning Happily Ever After [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Fluff, M/M, domesticity too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaLaRi/pseuds/DaLaRi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a scene from Crowley and Azi's cottage in South Downs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Light of the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Good Omens. It is the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

They’re in their cottage in South Downs. It’s in the quiet, soft space between sunset and night, and they’re relaxed on the couch, empty cups of hot cocoa still warm on the coffee table. Crowley’s just returned from his trip downstairs, requesting a transfer, a demotion, really, to Tertiary Tempter, South Downs division. In the dim, warm light of the table lamp and the fireplace, Crowley’s body is languid, free from the stress that has marred lines on his face over the past year and a half. He’s as close to retired as is possible for a demon, and Aziraphale’s so many decades behind that he thinks that Heaven wouldn’t call on him if the world was ending. Not that it will, for another century or two. And by then they’d be off this runaway train of a planet.  
Crowley’s already booked seats.  
\- - - - -  
Aziraphale sits, staring at the fire, and the shadows beyond the mantel. Crowley’s head is resting comfortably on the worn grey flannel of the angel’s sweatpants, and his eyes are comfortably dilated, almost feline in appearance. The demon’s suit jacket and shades hang from their pegs near the front door, along with Aziraphale’s scarf and crowley’s earmuffs, still untouched after three years, most likely due to the “unseemly shade of lime green” that Azi had picked out for him. Aziraphale combs his fingers through the demon’s dark hair, humming an old enochian tune that he only half remembers, something he used to sing to put the creatures of the Garden to sleep. He’s content and warm and happy, and he can feel the love radiating from the demon who's drifting off to sleep on his thigh, a warm, glowing, intangible feeling that the serpent has long since stopped denying. They’re safe and they’re protected, and they’re warm in the soft, cradling glow of the fire.


End file.
